Slippery When Wet
by BJ Thompson
Summary: Lew Wickersham hires Joe Mannix to find out who's leaking information to the Russians about a top-secret program being developed by Intertect.
1. Chapter 1

This story is dedicated to Lois. She reawakened my love of Mannix. Please read and review. Thank you.

Slippery When Wet

Chapter One

Early Sunday morning the Sixth Avenue Bridge street lamps blinked off. The rumble of the Union Pacific locomotive vibrated the road deck as it lumbered underneath the bridge towing a slithering line of freight cars.

A car straggled past and Lewis Edward Wickersham, CEO and owner of Intertect, Limited, leaned against the bridge railing. The concrete gray of the bridge contrasted with the asphalt black of Santa Fe Avenue below him.

A Red & White Cab, Number 130, parked behind his black Lincoln Continental. The sign on the roof of the cab advertised a pawn shop, a place where desperate people go. Something Wickersham could sympathize with. Even from this distance, the brown suede jacket, the cigarette hanging from his lips, and the walk spelled Joe Mannix. He hadn't seen him since Costa Verde, and he wasn't sure he wanted to now.

He'd kept tabs on Mannix. Through his private investigator apprenticeship with Harry Forrest to his undercover assignment with the California State Police and lastly, to the unfortunate Claman incident, Wickersham watched him grow into a private investigator with a good reputation.

"I don't go for this cloak-and-dagger stuff," Mannix said when he reached Wickersham.

"Good morning to you too." Eleven years had passed and Mannix still could get on his nerves.

"Yeah, morning." Mannix yawned. "You didn't call me here for old times' sake, did you?"

Wickersham studied his former mercenary colleague. On paper, he knew everything about Joe Mannix since Costa Verde, but he wasn't sure what he was about do was the right decision. Sometimes even the wrong decision is the only one you can make.

"I need your help."

"My help? You're Mister Intertect. What's the matter? Computers break down?"

Wickersham ignored the bitterness in Mannix's voice. "I have a problem with internal security. I need someone with fresh eyes."

"What's the problem?"

"Intertect is working with the FBI on a top secret project. Information has been leaking out to the Soviets. I have one week to fix it or lose a quarter of a million dollar government contract."

Mannix flipped his cigarette butt off the bridge. "I'm surprised that the FBI hasn't already cut you off."

"Special Agent Hanson wanted to, but Hoover interceded. Intertect's too far along in the project to be easily replaced. Even if we turned everything over to them it would still take a while for someone else to get up to speed. Suffice it to say Intertect's been given a reprieve."

"Okay, as long as you know I'm going to do this my way."

"You think that surprises me?"

"You know my license and gun permit were revoked."

"I know. But you're working for me. I'll assign you to the security division. You don't need a private investigator's license or a firearm to be a security consultant."

Wickersham faced north away from Mannix and glimpsed the downtown skyline in the distance. The sun's rays brought the heat of the day as it crept up the side of Los Angeles City Hall. A drop of sweat slid down his back. On one of the rare smog free days in Southern California, wearing a black suit might not be his only mistake today.

"When Claman was finished with you, I was surprised you still had a library card." Wickersham clasped his hands behind his back. "You don't want to get Harry's license revoked too, do you?"

"I was just helping him out." Mannix stared down and kicked at the pavement. "What's in it for me?"

"I can get your P.I. license and firearm permit reinstated."

Mannix gaped at Wickersham. "How? Who do you know? God?"

"Don't worry about that." Wickersham shifted to face Mannix. "Can I count on you?"

"You know I owe you." Mannix lit another cigarette. He glared down at the cab. "Fill me in."

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet."

"Intertect won a contract to work with three colleges in California on a nationwide system to send computer data via telephone. Have you ever heard of ARPANet?" he asked. He was positive that Mannix hadn't. He himself had only heard scant rumors until Intertect was awarded the contract. "It's something that the government is proposing in case of nuclear attack." Wickersham handed him three folders with the Intertect logo on them. "I've narrowed it down to these three."

Mannix paged through the files. "If you've done all this, why do you need me? What can I do that you can't or haven't already done?"

"One of the things I've discovered since owning Intertect is that too much information can be a bad thing. I find that sometimes my operatives become blinded by their computer readouts. You'll be a fresh set of eyes."

"I don't know, Lew." Mannix picked through a file and stopped at the photo of a female, Carol Ann Bagley. "If you can't find anything on them, maybe it's because they're not involved."

"Right now I don't have enough evidence to charge any of them with jaywalking much less espionage." Wickersham pulled his glasses up on his forehead and massaged the bridge of his nose. "I don't want to believe anyone at Intertect is capable of betrayal."

"There's always someone willing to stick a knife in your back."

"And you speak from experience?"

"Low blow, Lew." Mannix leaned against the railing. "A week's not a lot of time. What's my cover?"

"Let's try the truth. You're an old friend who needed a job. I gave you one."

"When do I start?"

"Tomorrow. You're one of three new Intertect operative-trainees coming on board."

Mannix tucked the files under his left arm. "Are your suspects still under surveillance?"

"As we speak."

"Call them off. I don't want to trip over Intertect while I'm doing this. Besides if you haven't found out anything by now you probably won't."

"All right, anything else?"

"Lew, why are you doing this? I'm grateful but—"

"Claman's a vindictive son-of-a-bitch. You got a raw deal. You were right and you kept an innocent man from getting railroaded into the gas chamber at the cost of your license. Besides, you owe me and I intend to make you pay." He handed him a card. "Private phone number, my car phone. By the way, at Intertect, we wear suits and ties. You do own a suit, don't you?"

"Yeah, Lew, I got a suit. When again?"

"Tomorrow morning, 7 AM."

He studied Mannix as he watched him stride away. Wickersham debated whether to call him back and inform him that his license reinstatement came with conditions. Conditions that he wasn't sure Mannix would agree to.

o0O0o

 _The room was huge with beige walls that climbed to a ceiling a few feet above his head. Whirring, clacking, spinning, a computer covered the wall behind him. A door materialized a basketball court away. He jogged toward the door. Little slots opened up on the wall. He felt a blast of air. A punch card sailed past his head. Then another and another. Flying punch cards choked the room. He fought them off as he raced for the door. He pulled on the knob. The door was locked. He was knee deep in the cards and getting deeper. He yanked and jerked on the door. He was drowning in punch cards. From the other side of the door he heard Lew laughing._

Joe crashed from his bed to the floor. A tangle of sheets wrapped around his body and threatened to smother him. He gasped for air and slouched against his bed. What the hell?

He unwrapped himself from the sheets and eased from the floor to the edge of his bed. He lit a Kools from his pack of cigarettes on the dresser and inhaled. Was working for Lew and Intertect really a good idea? Right now he didn't have a lot of choices.

He crossed to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. He felt more like pouring it on his head instead of drinking it. He frowned at the files on his couch. He had familiarized himself with the suspects before heading to bed: Brady Richards, the project manager, Carol Bagley, the programmer analyst, and Woodrow Wright, the hardware engineer. Outwardly they had the means and opportunity but no motive. No sudden financial gains, no debt, no skeleton rattling around in their closets that Intertect could find.

He noted bits of information from each file. Richards had been in the marines corps. Most of his career in Criminal Investigation Division. Probably where Lew knew him from. Carol Bagley had a brother in the marine corps, a brown belt in Judo, and a bachelor's degree in computer science. Smart, fit and good-looking. He lingered on her photo. Dark brown hair and eyes. Wouldn't mind getting to know her under other circumstances.

Joe delved into the file on Woodrow Earl Wright. navy veteran, electronic technician, employed at Intertect for three years. He studied the photo of the suspect. Sandy brown hair and built like a linebacker. Earlier he had noted Wright was a Sunday night regular at a local Italian restaurant and pizza joint named Sarno's. He finished the cigarette as he thumbed through the remainder of the file.

Besides needing to know when Wright wasn't at home, Joe was hungry. The lack of food in his fridge decided for him that Sarno's would be a great place to eat and wait on Wright to show up. Knowing Lew, he was sure no one had bugged Wright's apartment or any of the other suspects. At least there wasn't a mention of it in any of the files.

After a quick shower and shave, he dressed in work clothes, a short-sleeved green twill shirt with "Mitch Lockwood" sown above the pocket, matching pants, a pair of dusty ankle high black work boots, and a cap with a Pacific Bell logo on it.

He inspected his toolbox. A tape recorder equipped with a sound-activated on switch and two blank cassettes, a small, adhesive-backed, wired microphone, pliers, electrical tape, a hand drill with one eighth inch bit, and various other tools he might need. He carried a tool belt with a phone handset hanging from it. He placed the tools in the trunk of his silver Dodge Charger and drove the few blocks to Sarno's on Vermont Avenue.

Joe discovered that Sunday evening at Sarno's was amateur opera singer night. So that was the draw. He wondered if Wright sang opera. That hadn't been in his file. Sloppy surveillance by Intertect.

He positioned himself at a table facing the front entrance to see his suspect when he arrived. Wright was dressed casually. Joe watched him talk amicably with the maitre d'. Joe had his answer about whether Wright sang opera. His voice was pitched in the tenor range and sounded musical even when he conversed. Joe watched him for a few more minutes while he finished his cigarette, downed the last of his beer, and slid out of the booth. Time to go to work.

Joe parked on North Serrano. He strapped on the tool belt and grabbed the toolbox. He sauntered around the corner to Russell Avenue, home to the Russell Arms Apartments.

Wright lived on the first floor at the end of the hall on the right, Apartment 113. He arrived at Wright's door and slipped a small piece of plastic between the door jamb and the lock.

The first thing Joe observed was that except for the soldering iron and circuit boards on the coffee table,Wright's apartment was far neater than his own. Despite the sweat-sock-stale smell there were no clothes on the back of chairs or on the floor. Wright had no dirty dishes in the sink; his bed was made, and he owned a really expensive Pioneer component stereo system: a turntable, reel-to-reel tape deck, amplifier, receiver, headphones, and a pair of very large speakers. An orderly pile of opera albums leaned next to the receiver. A music stand held several sheets of printed music.

Joe scanned the apartment for the best placement for the microphone. He discarded the idea of putting the bug in the phone; he wanted to hear more than telephone conversations. The stereo system was situated near a window on the bachelor's favorite of concrete blocks and wooden planks.

He peeled away the bug's adhesive backing and placed it on the underside of the table next to a window. Fortunately, the wiring for the stereo system would hide the wire from the microphone to the cassette recorder. He had only two days before batteries died. His luck held as the window faced out on the fence of the property behind the apartment building. He could squeeze between the building and the fence to retrieve the recorder later.

He drilled a one eighth inch hole in the outside of the wooden sill and twisted in a large cup holder hook. He tested the recorder. The wheels of the cassette started up a second after he tapped on the table. He checked again that the recorder was set to the longest recording speed. He hung it on the hook by its handle. He'd be back sometime tomorrow evening to retrieve it.

oO0Oo

The eleventh floor of the Tishman Plaza Office Building was the home of Intertect Limited, Detection and Security. Intertect's reputation was such that the building had come to be known unofficially as the Intertect Building even though the company only occupied the eleventh floor, part of the twelfth, and the subbasement.

Wickersham marched off the elevator in his steel blue tailored suit. He pushed into his glass-enclosed outer office. Christine Reynolds, his executive secretary, always managed to get here before him no matter what time he started his day. From time to time he joked with her that she must have a hideaway bed in the sofa across from her desk.

"Good morning, Mr. Wickersham."

"Morning, Chris. Get me Hayden. Any changes to my schedule?"

"7:15, welcome speech to the new employees in the boardroom. At 8:00 AM, Brady Richards' briefing on Project Moriarty. 10:00 AM inspection tour of the VanCom facility with Fred Reston. After that your day is open."

"Schedule me for an afternoon at the pistol range. Kidd's after me to test a few of his new recommendations for the armory."

"Yes, sir."

Oak paneling encased Wickersham's office. A small aisle cut it in half. One side of the office contained Wickersham's desk, a small credenza that served as his bar, and a video control panel to his right. Within the realm of Intertect he had cameras on all areas of his operation. With the push of a button he could scrutinize anyone anywhere with the exception of the bathrooms. Even his surveillance had its limits.

The other half of the room held a tan chenille-covered couch, end chairs and tables, and a coffee table with ashtrays. Wickersham didn't smoke himself, but some of his clients did. The back wall held bookshelves filled with law reference books he never used and Central American folk art statues he had acquired in Costa Verde.

The morning light spilled in from the corner window. To his right was the view of the Ambassador Hotel and Wilshire Boulevard. The perks of a smog free day included a view of the Sierra Nevada Mountains to the east, but today was not that day.

He slipped between the credenza and his desk. The Los Angeles Observer Morning Edition and his mail waited on him. He pushed them aside for now. He pondered his decision to hire Mannix. He didn't second guess himself often. In the ten years since he launched Intertect he had made many hard choices. In his gut, this decision felt right, but a sense of dread lurked beneath. Not just the loss of a government contract, but the fear that he wasn't in as much control as he thought he was.

A knock on his door and Hayden peeked in. "You wanted me, Mr. Wickersham?"

"Come in." Wickersham shifted his gaze to Hayden. Sometimes when he looked at the hardware engineer he saw a shorter version of himself. The glasses Hayden wore made the resemblance impossible to miss.

"How's that location tracker coming?"

"I'm not sure . . . maybe . . ."

"Good, it's ready for testing?" Wickersham knew Hayden hated to let go of his pet projects.

"Well . . . I guess . . . the parameters . . . uh . . ."

"Install it on Vehicle 71. Let the watch commander know I want around the clock monitoring. I want to call in and be given a location. Doesn't have to be perfect, just somewhere in the vicinity of."

"Yes, Mr. Wickersham. Uh, who's driving Vehicle 71?"

"Doesn't matter who's driving it. It's a test. Get it installed."

"Right away, Mr. Wickersham."

Wickersham didn't want Mannix to know that he was being tracked. As much as he trusted him, he was aware of his penchant for roaming far afield. At least he would have an idea of the general area of Los Angeles County he wandering around in.

His intercom buzzed. "Agent Hanson on line three."

"Thank you, Chris." Wickersham steeled himself. Since the leaks had come to light, he expected he would get more calls from Hanson. After all it was the FBI's quarter of a million dollars.

"Agent Hanson. What can I do for the FBI this morning?"

"Have you found the leak? Your time is running out." Hanson didn't waste time with civilities.

Wickersham's right foot patted the carpet. "I have the entire resources of Intertect working on it."

"You know you only have until next Monday, May 2nd."

"I know and I said we're working on it. It has my highest priority."

"Doesn't sound like it."

"Intertect is not a government agency. We don't throw money at a problem. We actually try to figure out what's wrong and how to fix it."

"It's your money," Hanson said.

"No, it's the taxpayer's money of which I am one."

"Don't give me that 'I pay taxes too' line."

"Agent Hanson, I don't have anything to report at this time. I will apprise you when I do. Good-bye." Wickersham refrained from slamming the handset on the cradle. He would think long and hard about accepting another government contract.

He adjusted his tie and relaxed his jaw. Time to indoctrinate the new operatives in the Intertect Way.

o0O0o

The elevator door opened onto a well-padded, gold-carpeted and oak-paneled corridor. Joe stepped aside from the elevator to let the other passengers flow around him. Most scurried to his right toward an attentive receptionist seated behind a desk with a single piece of paper on it; her Intertect photo ID hung from the left collar of her white blouse. Each person showed their badge. A breeze of recycled air sent a whiff of her perfume toward him.

To his left a set of glass doors displayed the Intertect logo with the lettering "L. Wickersham, CEO" below it. So far the Intertect offices looked like what Joe expected—everything squared away and shipshape.

A blond man, Joe guessed to be about four years his junior, approached him.

"I'm Marty Pender, your training officer. You're late. At Intertect, early is on time."

Joe trailed Pender through the corridors to the conference room.

Wickersham interrupted his speech. "Mannix, you're late. This is the last time, correct?"

All eyes in the room turned to Joe. "Yeah, Le—Mr. Wickersham." He wanted to take a seat at the far end of the conference room table, but Pender motioned Joe to sit next to him on the end of the table closer to Lew.

Joe pulled out his cigarettes and Pender shook his head at him even though there were ashtrays at every seat. Welcome to Intertect!

He tuned out Lew's speech and concentrated on the other people in the room. All the then sat with their hands cupped on the table. He focused on the men not wearing ID badges. A black man with a short, well-groomed Afro and mustache and quick eyes was seated next to a man who Joe guessed was his training officer. He wore the Lew-approved dark blue business suit, white shirt, and a blue-black striped tie. The other trainee was dressed in a suit of charcoal gray with white shirt and a bolo tie, his black Stetson on the table next to him. Definitely not from Southern California. He wondered if these people realized they'd been drafted, like him, into Lew's Intertect army.

After he finished his introductory speech, Lew personally welcomed his new employees.

"Mallory, Intertect is lucky to have lured you away from the McNeil Agency. Welcome." Lew shook his hand.

"Thank you, Mr. Wickersham, glad to be here."

"Bienvenido, Dan, nice to have you working for me instead J.J. How is that old Texas scoundrel doing these days?"

"J.J.'s not happy that you stole me away from him for Intertect but he understands the opportunity you've given me here."

"Mannix." Lew gripped Joe's hand and pulled him closer. "Couldn't you have worn a suit like I asked?"

"Lew, I—"

"You have to learn to follow a rule before you can break it. Gentlemen." Lew nodded to his new operatives and left.

Joe was already regretting his decision. Reminded him too much of Costa Verde.

Pender introduced him to the other new trainees—Dan Chavez and Bill Mallory and their training officers, Gordon Parker and Jack Fredericks. The other new men, like Joe, were already experienced private investigators. Because of that, their training was abbreviated to one week. It was designed to introduce them to the Intertect way of investigating.

From the moment Joe stepped from the elevator he had been conscious of a tremor in the soles of his feet. As they left the conference room, he stopped in the hallway. "What's that vibration?" His head swiveled around the corridor, searching for the source of the low-pitched rumble.

"You'll get used to that. IBM 360 Mainframe computers. They run twenty-four hours a day," Pender said.

Joe was herded through Personnel and Payroll with the others. He hadn't signed this much paperwork since he had enlisted in the air force during the Korean War. Next he was photographed for his Intertect badge. Then the official tour began.

When they walked into the computer room he saw what his feet had been feeling. So the future of crime detection's in these machines. He watched spinning discs whirl and stutter; people scurried around the machine placing stacks of cards in a reader and watching the machine shuffle the deck. Lew's god. The only thing a computer could do for Joe is get his electric bill right.

o0O0o

"I'm sorry about getting behind schedule," Brady said.

Brady was nervous. In all their years together at the Marine Criminal Investigation Division, Wickersham could recall one other time he'd seen Brady fidget. Right before he married Marcia.

"I'd rather be a little late and have a quality product than be on time with something half done," Wickersham said.

"It's just that damned endless loop problem. Thought we had it licked."

"I'm sure you'll get it solved. Is there anything else you want to talk about?" Wickersham asked Brady as he rose to escort him to the door.

"Funny, that's what I was going to ask you."

Wickersham's guilt over suspecting Brady overtook him. The only reason he was a suspect now was because as project manager he had access to all the information leaked.

"You know, just the usual lonely-at-the-top thing," Wickersham said.

"Doesn't have to be."

"I know." Wickersham thought, better the traitor was either Carol Bagley or Woody Wright.

o0O0o

Pender checked his watch. "Break time." He led the way down another hallway and turned left. "Just so you know." He turned to face the other direction and pointed. "That's the restricted area. Very few people are cleared to go in there. Especially not someone like you who's new to Intertect."

Joe noted the armed security guard in Intertect gray standing in front of a door next to a podium with a sign-in book on it. A video camera hung from the ceiling pointed toward the door. As Joe looked down the corridor he saw unusual paneling at odd intervals on the walls. He wondered what that was about.

"You'll get more information on security procedures in the briefing this afternoon. This way to the canteen."

The canteen was like any other break room. People wandered in, gravitated toward the vending machines, smoked cigarettes, and drank coffee. Clumps of people gathered here and there.

Joe found the coffee machine and shoved a quarter in. On his way to join Pender at a table, he sipped. "This is really good coffee," he said when he sat down.

"Isn't it?" Pender pointed to a man in the blue work uniform closing the soda machine. "Royal Vending Services took over the canteen services about six months ago. Greg must be in here at least three times a week."

Joe grunted and lit a cigarette. He was too busy scanning the women in the room. He was looking for Carol Bagley. Then he saw her near the candy machine talking with Wright. She looked better in person. A lot better. He took a drag of his cigarette. She was dressed in a cheap knockoff of a Jackie Kennedy suit. During his brief fling with Joyce Loman, a model, he learned a lot about how women dressed.

"I haven't seen her around here. Who's she?" he asked Pender. He wanted to see what Pender knew.

"Carol Bagley. She's a programmer analyst. She works on Project Moriarty. You know, that secure area at the other end of this corridor I told you to stay away from. I don't even have clearance to go in there. All anybody knows is that it's something for the FBI. Pretty top secret." Pender crumpled his coffee cup and did a free throw to the wastebasket. "I'm learning basic programming. Mr. Wickersham chose me to be a liaison between the operatives and data operations."

"You mean there's a flaw in the program and Lew needs a human to fix it."

Pender frowned. "Break's over. Let's get on with the tour."

Pender loved to drone on about the glory of Intertect. Joe tuned out. His mind was working on a way to meet Carol Bagley.

Pender piloted Joe through the open floor plan of the inner offices of Intertect, a sea of Steelcase desks and Intertect employees. The battleship gray linoleum floors amplified the sounds of clacking typewriters and dot matrix printers dragging paper through their jaws. Doors with single nameplates ringed the open floor plan. Pender referred to it as "operatives' row." He opened the office door with the "J. Mannix" nameplate.

Joe's new office was neat and clean and bare of personal effects. A desk with a phone, a black office chair, a steel woven wastebasket, and a metal coat stand. A big, black notebook with the Intertect logo dominated the center of the desk. It dwarfed the olive green push button phone sitting next to it. Also on the desk was a set of car keys, a Chevron gas credit card, and his official Intertect badge and ID card.

Pender pointed to the upper corner to the left of the door. "Mr. Wickersham has video access to all operatives' offices."

Joe waved at the camera. "Hi, Lew."

Pender looked at his watch. "Lunch is in about forty-five minutes." He pulled a sheet of paper from the thick book. "Here's your schedule for the rest of the week. After lunch, the security briefing." He tapped the book. "Read the chapters on internal and external security. And wear your badge."

Joe toyed with the car keys; Pender snatched them away.

"Not until you pass your driving test."

"Pender." A voice came from the speaker. "I'd like to see you in my office."

"Yes, Mr. Wickersham." Pender slammed the door as he left.

Joe settled into the chair. He rocked back and forth testing how far he could lean back. He whirled around to look out of his window at what seemed like acres of apartment buildings. He turned back to the desk and opened the manual rifling through the pages. Conduct, procedures, a bunch of rules. Probably somewhere in there Lew's got rules about when and how he could take a piss. He slammed the book closed. Later for that. He looked at his ID badge; his number was A5893-A. He wondered what the numbers stood for. Good thing he wouldn't be around long enough to care.

Using the paper and pen he found in the desk drawer, he diagrammed what he had seen of the layout of Intertect, including the location of the restricted area.

o0O0o

After Jack Fredericks, Mallory's training officer, started talking Joe zoned out. His mind was still working on how to approach Carol Bagley. He thought about sabotaging her car, following her to lunch, or maybe just walking up and asking her for a date.

The class ended. Each of the training officers stood in the back of the classroom with a stack of clothing.

"That's it for today." Pender tossed Joe his stack. "Tomorrow's the obstacle course. You know where the police academy is in Chavez Ravine? Be there at 6 AM. Wear these, bring your suit, and toiletries."

Joe walked away inspecting the sweatshirt top and pants with the Intertect logo on them.

"Mannix." Pender called after him.

Joe turned. What now?

"Follow me," Pender said.

The ride in the elevator rivaled the Arctic temperature of the main computer room. Pender said nothing. He stared straight ahead and stood in a posture that veterans called "the brace." Any stiffer, Joe could have used him for an ironing board. At the parking lot level, he led Joe to a pale yellow Mercury Comet convertible. Pender tossed him the car keys.

"What happened to the driving test?"

Pender's jaw clenched. "You've already passed."

Joe assumed Lew had a little talk with Pender. Having a camera peeking into your office wasn't such a bad thing after all.

Pender began his spiel about safety and decorum on the road when you're driving an Intertect vehicle. While Pender talked on, Joe adjusted the seat and the mirrors and inspected the car. He'd worry about getting his car home later.


	2. Chapter 2

Please read and review. Thank you.

Slippery When Wet

Chapter Two

Joe parked in the lot outside the Los Angeles Police Academy gates. He jogged to the obstacle course from there. Chavez and Mallory huddled in one group and their training officers in another. Joe wondered what the TOs were discussing and where Pender was. He was still trying to shake the sleep from his body. Near the start of the course a man in a three-piece suit stood tapping his foot.

"Keeping late hours, Mannix?" Pender had snuck up behind him.

Joe didn't answer. He'd spent until around 2 AM watching the entrances to the Intertect building. He was operating on less than four hours sleep and thanked God that he would only be doing this for about a week.

While he was watching Intertect, he listened to the tape he retrieved from Wright's apartment. The majority of the tape was Wright singing along with The Pirates of Penzance opera, over and over again. After listening to that, hearing the late news, toilet flushing, bed creaking and snoring was a relief.

Joe stretched his back and yawned again. He wondered what they were waiting for when he spied Lew arriving. Joe didn't need a watch; it was 6 AM.

In his official Intertect sweat suit, Lew was trim and fit. Joe realized that in Costa Verde he never saw him exercise. Not a single push up or jumping jack, yet he had been tireless. Joe had reasoned Lew rose with the chickens and did whatever exercising he needed before Joe had even thought about rolling over in his sleep.

Pender jogged over to Lew. All Joe could hear was Lew saying "we'll talk about it later." Pender didn't look happy. Joe filed that away for later thought.

"I'm Frank Kidd," said the man in the three piece suit. "You'll be meeting with me on Thursday in my normal role as range officer." He held an extra-wide clipboard with five stopwatches. "This obstacle course is designed to give us a benchmark for use in planning your physical training. Pace yourselves. We're not expecting record breaking times. Just do your best. Any questions?"

Pender jogged a distance down the trail and disappeared with the other training officers. Joe smelled a trap. He wondered if the others had noticed.

Lew swung his arms in circles and jogged in place. He nodded toward Joe and the other trainees and signaled to Kidd. Joe positioned himself next to Lew.

"Ready . . . set . . . go!" Kidd let his arm drop.

Lew held Joe back as the others rushed to start the course. He followed him as Lew crossed the berm, worked his way up the ladder climb, and down the knotted rope. Once on the ground again, Joe trotted next to him.

"So what have you found out so far?" Lew asked.

"Nothing. I've only managed to check out Wright. If he's leaking information, he's snoring it in Morse Code in his sleep with _The Pirates of Penzance_ as the code key. I haven't had a chance to get to Richards or the girl yet. I don't think there's anything to find."

"There's got to be something I've missed. That information doesn't just fly through the air and magically land on the KGB's desk."

Lew deftly jumped over the barbed wire laid across the dirt trail. Joe had been too busy talking to notice where he was going and almost fell into the barbed wire. He moved back few steps to get a running leap over the obstacle. Up ahead on the trail, Joe saw Mallory dodging Fredericks.

He huffed and puffed as he caught up to Lew. "You sweep the area for bugs?"

"Every day since this came up."

"None of this figures." From the what Joe gathered from Pender, Lew's people were loyal to a fault. Somebody at Intertect had to hate his guts to be doing this to him. A week wasn't giving him enough time to find out who.

"Oh, by the way, you'll get a chance to meet Carol Bagley this morning."

"How?" Joe asked.

Wickersham sprung off a grassy ledge, did a forward roll, and came up running. Joe stumbled to the ground, dusted himself off and chased after Lew.

"Don't worry about it," Lew said. "It's been arranged."

Lew barely broke stride as he balanced his way across the first pipe; Joe slowed his crossing. Lew waited for him at the second pipe. He had one of the ropes in hand and was preparing to swing across a small ravine.

"Is that all? I've only got five days left before I'm minus a quarter of a million dollar contract."

"If I could get Pender off my back, I could move a little faster. Oh, thanks for getting me out of the driving test."

Ahead of them Joe saw Parker come out of the bushes, tackle Chavez, and wrestle him to the ground. After he swung to the other side of the ravine, Joe's eyes darted to the sides of the trail checking for any movement.

"Is there anywhere else they could be getting this information? What about those colleges you mentioned?"

Lew slowed to a walk. "UCLA and UC Santa Barbara locally. Stanford and the University of Utah are the other sites involved. I never thought of that. Maybe you're right. Maybe no one at Intertect is involved."

Lew scrambled into a cement pipe; Joe followed. His voice reverberated within.

"Wait a minute, Lew, don't go jumping to conclu—"

Pender pounced from the top of the pipe as Joe exited. Flat on his stomach with his TO on top, two pairs of Converse-clad feet jetted by them. He pushed Pender off and tried to get to his feet but Pender grabbed an ankle and tripped him. He hit his left knee when he fell to the ground. Damn it! Chavez limped by with Parker at his side. He kicked at Pender finally loosening his TO's grip. Joe ran before Pender could recover. They were the last to finish. Joe hoped Pender had as many bruises as he did.

"Don't bother to take a shower." Pender knocked the dust from his sweatpants. "You're going to the gym for the rest of the morning and assist with our women's self-defense class."

"What? Why me?"

"Your personnel file says you have a black belt in karate which means you know how to take a fall. The ladies need someone to practice on and you're elected."

Joe limped to his Intertect car. Gotta love the way Lew operates.

o0O0o

The gym consisted of a weight room with the latest Universal gym equipment, an open matted area, and a boxing ring with a heavy punching bag and a speed bag hanging off to the side on a wall.

When Joe arrived, five women were on the matted area. A two of the women wore culottes, two with official Intertect sweats, and one woman in short pants and a sweat shirt. Carol Bagley stood to the side in her judo gi and evaluated her students as they practiced.

"Are you Mannix?" she asked when Joe walked up to her.

Joe nodded.

"New guy, huh?" He noticed she was looking him over. "Looks like you've already had a rough day. Obstacle course?"

"Yeah, how'd you guess?"

"I'm not new." She reached out her hand. "Carol Bagley, the instructor. You get drafted?"

"Yep." She had a strong grip for a woman. "What do you teach them?" he asked.

"Basic self-defense. For Intertect's women operatives, it's a mandatory class, just like firearms qualification. For other Intertect women employees, it's optional. I teach them the basic throws and then we get a draftee, such as yourself, for them to practice on. At first I'd like you to not to resist so they can get a feel for your weight and height. Later I'll have you resist their moves so I can give them pointers on how to handle an assailant. Shall we?" She led Joe onto the mat.

"Ladies, this is Mr. Mannix. He's our draftee for today. You'll all get a chance to practice your moves on him."

"Does he get to practice his moves on us?" the woman in shorts asked.

"What he does off the mat is his own business. Lois, let's start with you. Ladies, the rest of you continue."

For the remainder of the morning Joe hit the mat again and again and again. It had been a number of years since he'd visited a dojo. His black belt had grown rust. For what he did in his investigative career, fists and guns worked a lot faster.

It was mid-morning when the class concluded and not too soon for Joe. He was going to smell like Ben-Gay for the next couple of days.

"Thanks for your help. Usually our draftee is not happy to be here."

"Somebody's got to do it. Besides it's better than memorizing the Intertect Manual."

Carol laughed. "Don't underestimate the amount of information that's in there. You could learn a thing or two from it."

"I was thinking," Joe said as they drifted toward the locker rooms. "That getting thrown around all morning has gotta be good for at least dinner tonight."

"Maybe some other time."

"Lunch?"

"Thanks again." She disappeared into the women's locker room.

Joe thought about resorting to surveillance; his charm and good looks weren't getting him anywhere.

o0O0o

Joe checked his watch: 11:07 AM. If he remembered his schedule correctly, he was free until his 1 PM Data Operations I class. That's is if he could avoid Pender. Since breakfast wasn't even a memory because he didn't eat it, Joe decided to hit the Holiday House Cafe in the plaza building next door. He entered and noticed Richards sitting at the counter alone. His hair was grayer than Joe remembered from his file. The photo must have been from a few years back. Time to make contact. He sat down beside him.

"Looks like you paid a lot of attention during your security briefing. You're not supposed to wear your badge outside of Intertect facilities."

"Oh, sorry. I'm new." Joe stuffed the badge in a coat pocket.

Richards extended his hand. "You're . . ."

"Joe Mannix." He shook Richards' hand.

"Brady Richards."

Joe picked up a menu. "What's good?"

"The Reuben."

"Reuben, it is." He signaled to the counter waitress. "How long have you been with Intertect?" Joe asked.

"Since I got out of the Corps a few years ago."

Joe lit up a cigarette. "Second day." He played with his lighter. "Look, I saw you with this chick—"

"Carol?"

"Is that her name? I was wondering if you could help a fellow out."

"Like what?" Richards asked between chews.

"I'd like to ask her out. She doesn't already have a boyfriend, does she?"

"Up until about a couple of months ago she was with some guy named Larry Watson. They broke up."

Joe let out a breath. "Great, I don't want to muscle in on some guy's territory. Does she like flowers?"

"What woman doesn't?"

"Don't you both work in that restricted area?" The second he said it, Joe wished he hadn't. He could feel Richards' radar go on full alert.

"Yeah."

"Must be pretty hush-hush."

"Yeah." Richards gave him the evil eye, quickly paid his bill and left.

Damn, Joe thought, two for two.

o0O0o

After lunch Joe decided to take a daylight tour of the perimeter of the Intertect Building. Nothing remarkable about the layout. Lobby entrance in the front, loading dock in the rear, parking entrance off the street. He stopped to light another cigarette near the loading dock. A purple and white Royal Vending van was parked there along with a local furniture truck. A camera was mounted high on the concrete wall. He stood under it to get a sense of its area of view. Mostly it covered the loading dock itself and a little bit of the service elevator. He walked around to the parking entrance.

A corner of the parking was dedicated to Intertect according to Pender's speech last night. Joe counted ten different makes of car, everything from a Chevy station wagon to a Volkswagen Beetle. Good idea for moving surveillance. Three gray vans with Intertect logos painted on them were parked next to them.

His car was parked in the middle. He decided he'd leave his Intertect car tonight and drive his own car home and return tomorrow by cab. If Lew was supplying the wheels, Joe might as well use them. It was Lew's dime.

The elevator door slid open. To his surprise Carol stepped out followed by a young man in brown fringed suede jacket and blue jeans. What was more surprising was that instead of long hair to go with the jacket, the man had a military buzz cut. Joe stepped out of their view behind a column.

The man followed her to what Joe assumed was Carol's car, an early 60s Buick Skylark hardtop. She handed him the keys. At that moment another car drove in and Joe couldn't hear what was being said, but they appeared to be arguing. Joe wondered if the man could be Larry Watson. A little young for her. Maybe her brother. The man slammed the car door and drove away. He sped by so fast Joe couldn't get a good look at him. When he turned back to Carol she was stepping into the elevator.

Joe had an idea. Maybe he wouldn't need a cab.

o0O0o

Wickersham was returning to his office from his every-other-week tour of Intertect facilities in the building. He liked to walk around to see if he noticed any inefficiencies like employees lined up at a printer waiting for printouts. He had solved that one by adding two other printers at other locations on the floor. Any employee could look and see what printer wasn't busy and send his file there. Problem solved.

When he entered his office suite, Brady was pacing in front of Chris's desk. Chris made it a point of honor that no one was ever allowed in Wickersham's office without him there. She would have made a great marine.

"What can I do for you, Brady?" Wickersham indicated for Brady to precede him into his office.

"I thought you'd like to know one of your new hires tried to pump me for information about Project Moriarty," Richards said.

"And which new hire would that be?" Wickersham asked as he moved to his desk.

"He identified himself as Joe Mannix. Is he working for you?"

"Of course, he's working for me. He's an Intertect employee."

"You know what I mean."

Wickersham did.

"I'll have his training officer give him a refresher on security protocols. Anything else?"

"No, Carol and Woody are still working on that problem."

"I have every confidence you'll get it solved." Wickersham began shuffling the papers on his desk. He could feel Brady's presence. He glanced up only after he heard the door close.

How could Mannix be so stupid as to blow his cover already?

o0O0o

When Joe arrived at the data operations class, everyone was waiting on him. He didn't have his Intertect Manual and no notebook. Fredericks was tapping a wooden board pointer against his leg.

"Glad you could join us," he said.

This class was another waste of a good afternoon. Joe wasn't interested in the organization of the data operations section. He wasn't interested in what the proper forms were for a data inquiry. He didn't care that normal requests took twenty-four hours to process; emergency requests could be handled in as little as fifteen minutes. He wanted the class to be over with. He had other things to do.

Joe waited in his Intertect-issued car at the far end of the parking level. He scrunched down in the driver's seat hoping not to be noticed. He watched the crowd of employees, having punched their time cards, vacate the building. After the first flurry of fleeing employees, Joe noticed Carol standing by the elevator carrying her purse and a bundle of white clothing encased by a brown belt. Joe recognized it as being her judo gi. A good way to smuggle out information.

He watched her pace in front of the elevators and frown at her watch. The man who borrowed her car earlier was late in picking her up. Joe was depending on it. He started the car and steered it close to the elevator doors. The brakes screeched when he stopped.

"I was wondering if you could do me a favor." Joe flashed her his best smile.

Carol arched her eyebrows.

"Could I get you to drive my car home for me and then it would be my treat for dinner?"

"Really? That's not your car you're driving?"

"No, this belongs to Intertect."

"And you want me to drive your car to your place?"

"Yes."

"You could get any one of your buddies to do that for you."

"Do you see anybody else around?"

The elevator doors opened. No one exited.

"I promise to be on my best behavior." Joe held up his fingers in a boy scout salute. "Scout's honor."

"I didn't know they had a merit badge for 'picking up women'."

Joe smiled again. "They do now."

The elevator doors closed.

"Just so you know, I'm doing this because I need a ride home."

Joe tossed her his keys. "The silver Charger." He rejoiced. No Pirates of Penzance tonight.

"So who was supposed to pick you up?" Joe asked as he drove away from the curb in front of his apartment on Nella Vista.

"Why did you ask that?"

"You looked like you were waiting on someone."

"You were watching me?"

"Not really," he lied. "I just happened to see you standing by the elevator."

"You must have come down before me. I don't remember you passing by me."

"I walked down the stairs." He knew the stairs door was not where she could see it from the elevator.

She stared at him. "Really? From the eleventh floor."

"I like to walk. Besides it's all down hill." He turned on to North Vermont from Prospect. Sarno's stood in the middle of the block. "This is it. Been here before?"

"No, first time."

Joe walked around the car to open her door. "My second time."

On an early Tuesday evening, the crowd was light. They had their pick of booths. They ordered and their waiter brought the bread sticks and wine.

Joe excused himself. He was relieved she left the gi in his car. He bypassed the men's restroom and headed straight out the back door. He rushed to the street in front of the restaurant. He purposely hadn't parked in front of Sarno's even though there was a spot available.

At his car he reached in and squeezed the bundled gi to feel for hard objects like a tape recorder or a camera. Nothing. Then he stuck his fingers amongst the folds feeling and listening for paper. Again nothing.

He didn't want to take it apart, but he had to know. He studied the knot a moment and then unwrapped it and the bundle. Her judo gi held nothing other than itself. He carefully re-rolled it and hoped he got the knot right. He knew by now she'd be wondering where he was. He raced to the back entrance and returned to their booth.

"I was beginning to think you had abandoned me."

"Ran out of hand soap. Had wait for them to fill it up." Joe unbuttoned his suit coat and reached for his cigarettes.

"So what do you do at Intertect?" he asked.

"I'm a programmer analyst."

"Which is?"

"The person who, when a program is not running correctly, figures out what's wrong and how to fix it."

"Does that mean you work in the computer operations section? I haven't seen you around except in the break room."

She took a cigarette case from her purse; Joe lit it for her. "I'm working on a special project for Mr. Wickersham. What brought you to Intertect?"

"A job. I needed one so Lew hired me. I'm an operative-trainee."

"You're the only person I've heard, besides my boss, refer to Wickersham by his first name." The smoke she blew out covered her face for a second. "Must be nice to have someone 'give' you a job."

"Trust me, Lew doesn't give anybody anything. By the way, where did you learn judo?"

"What you're sayinh is that it's unusual for a woman to know a martial art. My father taught me a few things he learned in the army from when he was stationed in Japan. I sorta liked throwing men around, so I found an instructor who would teach women and the rest is history."

Joe tapped the ash off his cigarette. "So you work on special projects for Lew."

"Let's drop the talk about work."

"I'm just interested—"

"A little too interested." She stubbed out her cigarette. "Did Wickersham send you to see what you could get out of me? Very clever of him how he had us meet." She grabbed her purse and slipped from the booth. "Take me home, please." Joe could do nothing but pay for the their uneaten meal and follow.

It was so frosty in the Comet, he thought about putting up the convertible's cloth top and turning on the heat. He was thankful she was so mad she didn't notice that her gi had been tampered with. After he dropped her at home he decided it was time to try a little James Bond action.

Joe stood underneath the camera. He knew he would be on tape as soon as he hopped up onto the loading dock, but at least it wouldn't catch his face. He was tempted to turn around and say "Hi, Lew," to the camera. No time for grandstanding. He lowered the safety doors of the service elevator and pressed the button for the eleventh floor.

When he got off the elevator he wasn't sure where he was. He hadn't mapped this part of the eleventh floor. He fumbled his way to the restricted area. What he saw when he found the corridor leading to his goal gave him pause.

The electric eye beams glowed warnings in the dark. Red beams crisscrossed the hallway. So the panels he'd noticed on Monday, opened at night to reveal five sets of beams set at irregular heights and intervals. He'd have to be a contortionist to get by them. As far as he knew this hallway was the only way in.

His eyes roamed the walls. Where were the controls? Down on the floor were two slits in the floor molding. It opened like a hinged door revealing a round keyway.

He had two choices: wait and see if there was a roaming guard or set off the alarm and see how long it took for the guards to show up. Should have paid more attention during the security briefing. Either way he wouldn't have a lot of time. Then he heard the chatter of a walkie-talkie and saw a flashlight piercing the dark hallway. He melted into the wall and waited.

The footsteps stopped as the flashlight searched ahead of the guard. Just as the guard looked right, Joe slugged him and eased him to the floor. He found the guard's keyring, located the key, slipped it in and turned. The beams disappeared. So far no alarm.

The other key on the guard's ring opened the door to the restricted area. Time was short. He dragged the unconscious guard through the door and dumped him.

The area was smaller than he imagined. A conference room to his right, five desks and a small glass-enclosed office in front of him. No papers on the desk. Filing cabinets against the wall were locked. Some type of TV screen with a keyboard attached sat in a corner. What had Pender called it—a remote terminal? He had mentioned during the tour that this was one of the other ways to access the IBM main frame.

None of the keys on the ring fit the door of the small office. He went to the conference room. He flicked the light switch and saw a chalkboard on the wall with a table with about half a dozen chairs squeezed in around it. Diagrams and formulas dotted the chalkboard. He photographed it with his Minox miniature camera. Time to go. He removed the guard's walkie-talkie and left him inside the door.

He ran back down the corridor and turned the beams back on. He left the keys and the radio on the floor. Everything had been filmed. He wondered if anyone was paying attention.

oO0Oo

The Wednesday morning class was radio operations. Parker, Chavez's TO, was the instructor. Three hours of which channels to use when and proper radio etiquette.

While Chavez and Mallory were diligently taking notes on radio operations in their Intertect-issued black notebooks, he sifted through last night with Carol. He must be rusty. Usually he was pretty good at drawing information out of people without them catching on and he knew she wasn't smuggling anything out in her judo uniform. At least not last night. Now he had two of the suspects suspicious about him. His cover was probably blown. And that gauntlet of electric eyes would have even challenged his friend, Al Mundy. He had to figure out who the leak was so he could get the hell out of here. Oh, well, back to the Pirates of Penzance.

"What channels do we use for moving surveillance, Mannix?"

At the sound of his name, Joe sensed everyone was staring at him.

"Um." Joe flipped through the pages of his manual. He hadn't opened it.

"Gordon, why don't we break for lunch," he heard Pender say.

"Sounds good. Back here at 1 PM. There will be a short quiz," Parker said.

Chavez and Mallory gave Joe a what's-with-you look and left. Joe heard Parker say to Pender. "You'd better get your boy with the program."

Pender stomped toward him.

"What's with you? You know how many applications we turn down in a week? You come in every day and don't pay attention, act like you don't care, seems like you'd rather be somewhere else. Tell me, Mannix, do you really want to be here?"

"Get off my back, Pender. I don't need you or a manual to tell me how to use a radio or how to tail a suspect. I've been doing it for years."

"So it's Mannix's way or no way." Pender stuck his face close to Joe's. "Get used to it. You're here to learn the Intertect way and you'd better get started."

"Yeah, sure," Joe said.

He wanted to scream at Pender, _Listen, buddy, I'm only here long enough to find out something your computers can't. Then it's adios to the Intertect way._

Instead of going out to lunch, Joe brooded in the canteen. He parked himself at a small corner table. He had long ago finished the ham-and-cheese sandwich he had bought from the vending machine and now he played with his empty coffee cup. He was on cigarette number three.

Carol and Wright entered. From his corner spot, they looked like an old married couple arguing about the same old thing.

"Dr. Klein at UCLA called. The data packets are not getting through. Sounds like that endless loop problem again," Carol said.

"Don't blame me. It's your programming. You had everybody up in arms about the repeater," Wright countered.

"That's because last time it was. . ."

Carol's voice faded as they moved to a table near a vending machine on the other side of the canteen. When she had passed by Joe, she ignored him. What little else he heard, he didn't understand. Made him wonder if they should be discussing stuff like that outside of the restricted area.

He wouldn't be surprise if she'd reported him to Richards or maybe Lew. A week wasn't really enough time for an operation like this. He didn't have time to get to know people before he had to ask a lot of questions.

A guard marched to his table. "Mr. Wickersham wants to see you." Joe noticed the guard placed his hand on his weapon. What now, house arrest?

o0O0o

Wickersham punched a button on his video console and a panel opened in his office wall revealing a small screen.

"This is from the hallway camera."

Mannix watched the replay of his last night's intrusion.

"What was the point of that?" Wickersham asked.

"Anybody recognize me?"

"I did. The watch commander called and let me know what had happened."

"You could have warned me about those electric eyes."

"Why would I do that? You're supposed to be investigating my suspects not playing international thief. You knocked out the roaming guard. That's old-fashioned."

"I'm an old-fashioned guy."

"Nice touch leaving the guard inside with his keys and radio on the outside." Wickersham slipped behind his desk. "You got anything else for me?"

"No." Mannix's shoulders slumped. "Seems to me you should be able to do this yourself. I appreciate the favor. Maybe losing my license was a good thing."

"We made a deal. It's not only this." Wickersham rolled a pencil back forth across his desk. "I know you've got my back."

Mannix nodded and headed for the door. He took the miniature camera from his breast pocket and tossed it to Wickersham. "You might want to get those developed."

After Mannix left, Wickersham buzzed Chris and handed her the camera. "Get this to the lab and mark it for my eyes only. And put a rush on it." He rewound the tape and replayed the night Mannix invaded Intertect.

o0O0o

The last class of the day was in the first floor security office. Part of Intertect's lease with plaza management, the class was told, was to provide security for this building and the rest of the Tishman Plaza buildings. Intertect used the guard's position in this building as a training post for new Intertect security guards and for familiarization of its operatives. Day guards wore ties and blazers with the Intertect logo on the breast pocket and a concealed weapon in a shoulder holster. The night and weekend guards wore an Intertect gray uniform with a holstered weapon. On his schedule Joe was slated for familiarization training on Saturday. He hoped he would be finished with Intertect before then.

The video surveillance class was Pender's. The surveillance was set up with two video decks. In case one deck inexplicably ran out of tape or malfunctioned, the second deck was programmed to take over.

Pender informed them that this video cassette deck was the latest in video technology. Mr. Wickersham had partnered with different electronics companies for Intertect to test out their newest products. This gave Intertect access to technology no one else had and this was but one example. Formerly they had been using large one-and-two inch video tape reels. Now all that was encased in a cassette the size of a carton of cigarettes.

Pender's talking about the specifications became so much white noise that Joe almost tuned out.

"Ampex VC—" Pender continued.

Joe caught himself. Even if he wasn't interested he knew how to act like it until the end of the day.

o0O0o

"Mr. Wickersham, Agent Hanson on line three."

"Thanks, Chris." Wickersham scowled at the white blinking light on his phone. He didn't want to have this conversation yet, mainly because he had nothing to report. He was running out of time and he had nothing to show for it except for a possible quarter million dollar loss in his accounting ledger. That was not a conversation he wanted to have with his board of directors.

o0O0o

Thursday already and Joe had nothing to tell Lew. As usual he was the last to arrive at the combination indoor firing range and armory in the subbasement of the building. Pender, the other trainees and their TOs lined the small corridor between the firing lanes and the armory.

"Good, you're all here." The armorer looked out of the dutch door that led to the armory. "For those of you with short memories, I'm Frank Kidd, the armorer and range safety officer for Intertect. I am here to aid you with your Intertect-issued weapons. Today is to familiarize you with three of the weapons in the Intertect inventory: .22 caliber Walther PPK, .38 caliber Colt Detective Special, and .45 caliber Colt Commander. In the coming weeks you'll do actual qualification. You will not be issued your Intertect firearm until you do so."

He pointed to the two doors they had passed through. "Both doors are kept closed to aid in noise suppression. When you get to your firing lane you'll also notice the sound baffles on the range walls for the same purpose." He pointed up. "When the range is in operation, ventilation is handled through those ducts above the firing positions. The range is for handguns only. There are five firing lanes. The distance to the targets is fifteen yards . . ."

Joe's eyes glazed over. More information than he cared to know.

"Today is an open range, firing at your own pace. Your training officers will assist you with any weapon you're not familiar with. Now to your assigned positions. Chavez, lane 2. Mallory, lane 4, Mannix, lane 3."

Pender stationed himself behind Joe. The three weapons were laid out with its ammunition on the shelf in each firing lane.

"I'm going to assume that you didn't read the section on range safety like I told you to. In fact from now on, I'm going to assume you never do anything you're told to do."

" _Load your choice of weapon,"_ Kidd said over the range speakers.

Joe loaded the magazine into the Walther keeping the weapon pointed downrange. He assumed the standard firing stance.

"I heard you knew Mr. Wickersham before Intertect," Pender said.

" _Is the range ready?"_

Out of the corner of his eye, Joe saw Pender signal to Kidd.

" _The range is ready. Fire at will."_

"Yeah, Lew and I have worked together."

Joe sighted the targets down range. Instead of the regular human bulls eye targets each lane had three stylized silhouettes: a man crouching, a man kneeling, and a man standing. He decided on the middle target, the man kneeling. He squeezed off three rounds. A little high.

"You don't seem to be the type of man we usually get."

"Oh, what type am I?" Joe popped off the rest of the clip and removed it. Interviewing people wasn't the only thing he was rusty with.

"The kind of guy who does his own thing."

Joe loaded the Detective Special. "A job's a job. Look, Lew gave me a job because I needed one. You're right. I'm used to being my own man."

"I'm here to help you make the adjustment to the Intertect way."

Joe fired at the crouching target, a perfect grouping of three at the shoulder. "And if I don't adjust?" The .38 always felt better in his hand. He aimed at the kneeling target again and fired the remaining rounds. Still a little high.

"I have the authority to wash you out. Of course, Mr. Wickersham has the final determination if you think that will save your ass. He rarely overrides my decisions."

Joe opened the chamber of the .38 and replaced it on the shelf.

"I see."

"No, you don't see." Pender moved close enough that Joe could smell his Aqua Velva shaving lotion. "Intertect may not be the army, navy, the marine corps or the air force, but we have rules here and you will follow them."

"Of course." Joe slapped the magazine into the .45. The standing target was next. Without a break, he emptied the seven-round magazine into it. All center mass.

o0O0o

Joe did not relish the afternoon Data Operations II class. Data Operations I had been bad enough; what else they could talk about? Lew and his rules and regulations. He thought about checking the Intertect Manual to see if he was allowed to bring a cup of coffee into the classroom to keep him awake.

As Joe exited the canteen, he noticed Richards taking the down elevator. Joe rushed for the service elevator. If he was very lucky he might make it to the parking level before Richards. He raced around the corner of the loading dock just in time see Richards get into his Impala. Joe tossed the cup and ran for the Mercury. Time to play hooky.

o0O0o

Wickersham leaned over Hayden's shoulder as both men watched the blip on the rolling map of Los Angeles County. Mannix was on the loose. The blip had stopped on the UCLA campus. Mannix was on to something. UCLA was one of the other entities involved in Project Moriarty.

For now he wouldn't inform Pender of Mannix's location. At this point it wasn't anything Pender needed to know.

Wickersham wondered what took Mannix so long to go AWOL.

o0O0o

Joe stood on the steps of a five-story red masonry and concrete building, UCLA's Boelter Hall, its math and computer science center. He loosened his tie and undid the top button on his shirt. He could breathe again. Working for Intertect was making him uptight. He removed his jacket and slung it over his shoulder.

He waited a second before he followed Richards into the building. The white on white hallway dazzled his eyes. The corridor was relieved by the dark brown floor molding and the walnut-paneled classroom doors. Down the hallway and to his right, Joe saw Richards turn left. Joe passed the elevators, desks piled up against a wall, and students. Not much had changed since he was in college. The brainiacs still walked around with slide rules and pocket protectors.

Joe stopped at the corner and peered around it. The entrance was blocked by a guard station manned by Intertect. Richards showed his badge to enter.

Odds were that was the only way into wherever Richards was going. Joe re-buttoned his shirt, slid the knot on his tie up, and slipped back into his jacket. He returned to the corridor with the elevators and desks. He swiped a clipboard and strolled up to the guard pretending to read the papers clipped to it. The guard blocked him.

"Your badge, sir," the guard said.

Joe took out his Intertect badge and tried to wave it at him like he saw Richards do, but the guard wasn't having any of that. He grabbed Joe's badge to get a closer look.

"Wait a minute, you're not cleared for this area."

"Ah, geez, I forgot to pick up my new one. Call Richards back. He'll vouch for me."

The guard wavered.

"Mr. Wickersham wants me to shadow him. He's training me, you know."

"Well, if Mr. Wickersham . . ."

Joe grabbed his badge back. "Thanks." He strode down the hall before the guard could make anymore objections.

Joe ditched the clipboard as soon as he was out of sight. He checked several rooms including the men's restroom and didn't see Richards anywhere. Did he already leave? Was there another exit? Why would he come here to leave by the back door? And judging by the security there shouldn't be a back door. He wandered deeper into the building. That vibration again. Somewhere around here was a room full of computers.

He cracked open another door—a break room. He started to close it when he glimpsed Richards studying the back of the coffee vending machine.

"A long way to come for a cup of coffee," Joe said.

"How did you get in here?" Richards stopped his examination. "You are working for Lew, aren't you?"

"Maybe. Lost your quarter?"

"Possibly more than that."

When two students entered the break room, Richards moved away from the vending machine.

"Not here," Richards whispered. He glanced out of the window. "Shakespeare Bridge, after ten tonight." He dashed from the break room.

"What? Wait!"

Joe looked out the window and wondered what Richards had seen. All he saw were guys in blue jeans and girls in miniskirts. He left the break room to catch up with Richards, but stopped when he saw him talking to the guard.

His exit cut off, Joe ducked into the men's restroom. He raised the window. No bars. He climbed out and dropped to the sidewalk. By the time he reached the parking lot Richards' Impala was gone. He did a walk-around to be sure.

Returning to his car, Joe saw the guard panning the parking lot. He had probably reported to his supervisor the secure area had been breeched by one Joe Mannix.

He checked his watch. The Data Operations class had been going for about an hour. He would have loved to be a fly on the wall when Pender told Lew he'd lost his trainee. He had a lot of time to kill until tonight. Might as well change out the tape at Wright's. He wondered what was on The Pirates of Penzance hit parade.

o0O0o

The Shakespeare Bridge was short span that crossed the local ravine in the Franklin Hills. The medieval turrets on either end stood like sentinels in the night. Joe stood on the north side of the bridge near St. George Street out of the reach of the glow from the street lamps.

In the distance he heard all the late night residential sounds: dogs barking at passing cars, television sets too loud, and metal trash cans being dragged down concrete driveways. This part of town was getting ready for bed.

From the other end of the bridge he saw car headlights swerving toward him like the driver was wrenching the steering wheel from one side to the other. Before Joe could move the car crashed into one of the turrets at the other end of the bridge. He started toward it. A man stumbled from the car, falling to his knees.

Suddenly high beams from another car blinded Joe. He jumped onto the sidewalk. The headlights lunged at him. He flattened himself against the railing enough for the front bumper to miss him. He pulled out his gun but before he could fire, the silver car squealed around the corner of St. George.

Joe rushed to the body. The man was lying face down and half on the sidewalk and half in the street. Blood pooled in the gutter. He turned the body over. It was Richards.

"Tape . . . coffee . . ." Richards gasped.

"Hold on." Joe pulled out his handkerchief and placed it over the wound. Blood soaked through. He searched for a pressure point.

In the distance he heard the sirens.

o0O0o

Wickersham threaded his way through the nosy neighbors and the bored LAPD uniformed officers as Richards' body was being loaded into the county van. The lab boys were taking measurements and photographs. In the center of the scene was Sgt. Art Malcolm.

"Sgt. Malcolm, what's the story?"

"Sorry about your man. Apparently Richards set up this meeting with Mannix. Before it could take place. . . ." Malcolm waved his arm at the crashed vehicle.

"Let me know if there's anything Intertect can do to assist you." Wickersham scanned the area. He found Mannix leaning against the bridge's concrete railing smoking a cigarette.

"Is it true? Joe says he works for you," Malcolm asked.

"Not for long." Wickersham walked over to Mannix. When he was closer, he saw the blood on Mannix's clothes. Brady's blood.

"Would you like to explain what happened here?"

Mannix tossed his cigarette over the railing. "I've already told Art. I'm sure you can read his report."

"You work for me. I want to know what happened right now. And then I want your written report on my desk in the morning."

"Look, Lew—"

"Look nothing. One of my men is dead and I have to go inform his family. What were you doing out here that got Richards gunned down in the street like a common thug? Is this connected to Project Moriarty?"

"It has to be. I followed Richards to UCLA."

"Yes, I got the report about your unauthorized access to the restricted area there."

"I'm not sure what he was doing there. He could have been following someone."

"Whom did he suspect? Why didn't he come to me?" Wickersham had always prided himself on having an open door policy, except Brady didn't see it that way.

"I don't know."

"Did he say anything before he died?"

Mannix glanced at Malcolm. The police detective was watching the lab boys collect the evidence. Mannix swiveled to put his back to him. "Something about coffee."

"Coffee?"

"Yeah, coffee and tape."

Wickersham pondered. "You didn't tell Malcolm." Mannix slightly shook his head. "Are you carrying?" Wickersham asked. "On second thought, I don't want to know. I want your report on my desk in the morning," he said to Mannix. "After that, you're fired. This was a bad idea."

"Lew—"

"The report and then you're gone. No government contract is worth someone's life."

Wickersham left to accompany Malcolm to inform Richards' family. He had been fortunate; this was the first time in Intertect's history he had to deliver a death notification. He never wanted to do this again. Hiring Mannix had been the biggest mistake of his life.


	3. Chapter 3

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Slippery When Wet

Chapter Three

Joe had paced his office most of the night.

He had labored over his report to Lew about last night's incident. This was the part of being a detective he didn't enjoy and probably the reason he never continued on to law school. At least he didn't have to worry about so and so versus so and so and whatever court ruling that applied. He tried to make it "just the facts, ma'am," but something about the whole situation wasn't right.

He had gone home earlier and changed clothes. On the drive back to Intertect he had nothing but questions and no answers. Was Richards killed because he found out something about the leaks in Project Moriarty? If he suspected something, why didn't he tell Lew? And what about Richards' last words—tape and coffee? What kind of tape? Video tape? Cassette tape? Scotch tape? What about coffee? If it wasn't Richards, or Wright or Carol, it has to be somebody outside of Intertect. But who, other than those three, had access to that information?

Lew had mentioned about working with UCLA and UC Santa Barbara. Were the leaks coming from those locations and not Intertect? And what was Richards doing in the break room of the UCLA computer science building? When Joe entered the break room, Richards had been peering at the back of the coffee machine. Was he trying to break in? Get his quarter back?

Joe dashed the Intertect Manual against the wall. He was stumped and he was tired. His head reeled. Too many questions and not enough answers.

It was 7 AM and he was sure Lew was at his desk wondering where his report was. He needed a break. Coffee and he would finish his report and his career at Intertect. Yeah, coffee sounded good about now.

o0O0o

Wickersham watched on his monitor as Mannix struggled with the report just as he struggled with telling Marcia, Brady's wife, that he wasn't coming home. Wickersham had already made an appointment with Intertect legal counsel, Ed Graham, about assuming any debts that Brady still owed to include financial arrangements for the college education of Brady's two sons and the mortgage on his home. No family of an Intertect employee would suffer any financial setbacks while he owned the company. Later, after the funeral, he would talk to Marcia about what type of job she might be interested in doing.

Earlier that morning, he personally cleaned out Brady's desk. He packed away the memories of their friendship in a box. That was all that was left, memories and photographs. By now everyone at Intertect knew of Brady's death. The grapevine still had computers beat when it came to spreading bad news.

"Excuse me, Mr. Wickersham." He recognized one of his junior programmers. Cooper was his name.. "Brady requested a data inquiry. What do you want me to do with it? I mean, Brady's . . ."

"Just put it in the box."

Wickersham had walked on. His mind had been on planning a visit to Marcia to help with the funeral. With the military's permission he hoped to have the casket bearers be a combination of Marines and Intertect employees.

o0O0o

Joe entered the canteen. Over at a vending machine, he saw Greg loading sodas with practiced ease.

Joe dropped the coins in the coffee machine and received his cup. He spied the donuts and danishes on a tray on a nearby counter top. He turned to Greg.

"Hey, are these free?" He waved his hand at the table.

Greg looked up from his task. "Yeah, compliments of Royal Vending Services. Every payday Friday."

"Thanks." Joe grabbed a cheese danish. He could think of worse ways to start a day. He was almost out of the canteen when he heard a slam, a short cry and "sookim sin!" His step faltered; the coffee cup in his hand turned cold. Joe cocked his head, "Are you alright?"

Greg jerked his injured hand back and forth, stopping to suck the fingers. "I'm okay," he said through his digits. "Just got my fingers in the way."

Joe smiled and nodded. He chewed a bit of the danish and continued into the hallway.

 _Sookim sin._ He hadn't heard those words since Teddy Federov called him that when they were boys in Summer Grove. The curse was Russian for son-of-a-bitch. He ditched the coffee and the danish in the first trash can he saw.

o0O0o

Wickersham rose from his desk. "Come with me," he said to Pender. "What is your opinion of Joe Mannix?"

"I don't think Mannix was Intertect material," Pender said as he trailed Wickersham.

"You don't? Explain."

Pender cleared his throat. "I realize he's a friend of yours, but he constantly flaunted the rules. He's wandered off, and he's not disciplined. He just does his own thing, sir."

"And you think that invalidated his worth to Intertect?"

"Yes, sir."

"Maybe a little chaos is a good thing."

"Sir?"

They reached Hayden's cubbyhole. The smell of solder and burning wires filled the small space.

"Hayden."

"Mr. Wickersham!" the engineer jumped from his stool.

"Where did Vehicle 71 wander off to?"

Hayden leaped to the rolling map display. The blip winked. He fiddled with the knobs.

"Well, yes, after triangulating between here, our antenna at the Thompson building and—"

"I understand triangulation. Where is it right now?"

"Uh, right now, uh, you realize I haven't gotten all the, uh, bugs—"

"Hayden!"

"Downtown, somewhere around the Hall of Records," he said quickly.

"Thank you, Hayden."

"Yes, sir." Hayden escaped back to his workbench.

"You can track his vehicle?" Pender asked. "So that's why you had me dispense with the driving test."

"Yes, one of Hayden's pet projects. I thought Mannix would be a good test."

"That's an understatement."

"Pender, don't interfere with what he's doing. In fact, help him if he asks for it."

"Sir? You're not going to fire him?."

"No. I'll explain later." Wickersham removed his glasses from his pocket and put them on. "Oh, and Pender don't tell Mannix about the tracker."

"Sir, I know Intertect is your company—"

"You would do well to remember that."

o0O0o

Joe stepped from the Los Angeles County Hall of Records with notes in hand. After following Greg to a one-story concrete building on Terminal Island, Joe decided his latest suspect might stay put for a while, so he started investigating the Royal Vending Services Company. As of yet he wasn't convinced that there wasn't some insider helping the Russians. So instead of filling out the proper forms and asking for a data run from Intertect's Data Operations, the class he was supposed to be in yesterday, he was doing it the old fashioned way—one government office at a time. If Royal Vending and Greg were involved, and after hearing that Russian curse he was convinced that Greg had to be, he didn't want to alert anyone at Intertect that he might be on to them.

Looking in the Yellow Pages he found the Royal Vending Services phone number. He dialed, but it just rang and rang. The address listed with the phone number was not the Terminal Island address he followed Greg to. He'd drive by that address later.

Standing in line dealing with the civil service mentality made him hungry. But before heading to Clifton's, he had a call to make. He dialed the private number Lew gave him from the car phone. He had forgotten how handy these things were. He really had to get one of these.

"Wickersham."

"Am I still fired?" Joe asked.

"Not until you turn in your report, my badge, and my car."

"So I'm still on the payroll?"

"Apparently you're on to something. I'd be a fool to fire you now."

"You'll be relieved that I don't think it's anyone from Intertect."

"Who are you watching? Better still why are you watching? Who is it? What have you found out? Mannix, so help me—"

"Later, Lew, I'm still confirming suspicions." He cut the connection.

"Mannix!" Wickersham let the phone receiver dangle. At least ten minutes of his day was becoming devoted to cursing his decision to hire Joe Mannix.

o0O0o

Joe almost forgot Art Malcolm was on loan to Hollywood Division. He had been surprised when he had arrived at Shakespeare Bridge as the on-call homicide detective.

Joe hadn't been in this precinct for a while. Unlike some of the other divisions, the homicide detectives worked out of an open area with desks instead of offices. Joe found Art at one of those desks assembling a blue binder, the Richards' murder book.

"This isn't a social call, is it? I'm up to my neck in Richards' murder and about a half dozen other cases. And I've got a promotion board next week," Art said.

"What's up with the autopsy? Anything I should know about?

"Not yet. You were there. Is there anything I should know about? What did you not tell me?"

"What makes you say that?" Joe often thought that if he had taken Art's advice years ago to join the LAPD he might be working with his friend instead of using him as an information source.

"I know you."

Joe propped a hip on the desk. "Okay, are you ready for this? I think Richards tripped over a Russian spy ring."

Art sat straighter in his chair. "At Intertect?"

"Yeah, Lew brought me in to help him find the leak. You know the story. Lew called in his marker."

"Isn't that FBI territory? Hanson must be steaming."

"The top secret project Intertect's working on is for them. If I don't find out who's leaking information, Lew loses a quarter of a million."

"Pocket change to him. What's in it for you?"

"I get my license back."

If Art had been a fish out of water, he would have been gasping. "Who the hell does he know? Claman will never let that happen."

"If Lew says he can do it, I believe him."

"If he can do that, tell him to put in a good word for me at my promotion board next week."

"Going up for lieutenant?"

"Yeah, third time. It's now or never. Look, until the autopsy gets done, you probably know more than I do. SID's going over Richards' car now. I'll be canvassing the neighborhood for witnesses later. Maybe get a little more information on the car that almost ran you over."

"So, no other suspects?"

"You got anybody in mind?"

"I may have someone for you later."

"I'd rather know now than later. Your later usually arrives with dead bodies and more paperwork."

o0O0o

Saturday's warm sun hit the right side of his face. Joe awakened. He was supposed to be on surveillance. He quickly assessed the area around the warehouse. Only thing different was the sun instead of the stars. He stretched. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe Greg had nothing to do with leaking information. How did he get it anyway? Was he working with someone in Intertect? Was it Brady? Is that why Brady was killed? Everything looked so different when daylight shone on it.

He rubbed his chin. He needed a shave, a shower, a smoke and some food and not in that order, but first since no one was home, he wanted to take a look around Royal Vending Services offices.

The cinder block building was a single floor. He tried the windows and doors nearest the street, locked. On the backside of the building away from people and traffic, he found a door with a six-paned window in it. He broke the pane nearest the door knob. He reached in and unlocked the door.

It was a typical office except for the refrigerated glass cases. Cellophane wrapped sandwiches were lined up on its shelves. Cases of sodas stood in a corner, boxes of coffee and creamer next to them.

Everything about the office was neat and tidy. A few pieces of paper dotted the the two desks. The ingle filing cabinet wasn't locked. Except for the top drawer, there was nothing in it. The papers on the desks were bills of lading and sales receipts. As he rummaged through the office he thought, if he was a spy he wouldn't leave evidence around that could convict him either. No, this might be their office of record but this wasn't where they did their business. Time to bring Intertect into this and for breakfast. He'd leave a message for Lew to meet him at the Sixth Avenue Bridge tomorrow morning. He might have something by then.

o0O0o

"May I see your badge, sir?" the guard asked.

It was late Saturday morning at the Intertect Building. Joe fished in his jacket pocket and brought out his ID. He hoped this guard wasn't the one he'd slugged the other night.

The guard's eyes narrowed when he checked the badge. "Hey, aren't you supposed to be on duty with me this morning?"

Joe had forgotten about his training schedule. "Oh, didn't you get the schedule change? Mallory should be here instead of me."

The guard made a face. "I don't think so. Let me check with the watch commander."

"You don't have to do that."

"I insist." The guard picked up the phone.

Joe could do nothing but wait. Lew would get upset if he punched out another guard.

The guard placed his hand over the handset. "Pender says he'd like to see you upstairs. Now."

Joe nodded; he was going to go up there later anyway. He walked over to the bank of elevators and pressed the up button. When he turned back to look at the guard, he had come from behind the desk with the phone still in his hand. He was reporting to Pender Joe's every move.

An elevator arrived and Joe entered. He saw the guard return to his post as the elevator doors closed. Joe punched the eleven button and then hit the two. He guessed that Pender would be waiting on him when the doors opened at eleven. He didn't have much time before he came looking for him.

Joe barreled down the two flights of stairs. He slipped into the security office and into the little alcove with the video recording equipment. Pender said they kept up to a month of tapes mainly for training the new operatives and guards on how to use the equipment. Time to see if he had paid enough attention during class.

Pender had likened the controls to using a visual reel-to-reel tape deck. Same controls but with pictures, a date stamp and a time-code in the lower right corner of the screen. The tapes were numbered for the days of the month; he searched for tape 28. He shoved the tape into the second deck and watched as the second video screen came to life.

He fast-forwarded through the day. He was interested in only what was going on after hours. He wanted to see if anybody stopped by on Thursday night. The tape switched between the four camera views every few seconds. Right before 6 PM, the person he saw enter the building stunned him—Greg, the canteen services guy.

"You couldn't follow instructions if your life depended on it."

Joe turned to see Pender standing behind him. His TO's jaw was clamped tighter than shark on dinner.

"I'm already toast here so whether I show up for guard duty or not makes no difference," Joe said.

"I know."

"Did Lew tell you why I'm here?"

"Despite what you think about me and Intertect, I am a detective. I can still put two and two together without the aid of a computer. Project Moriarty."

"Yeah. Lew asked for my help and I'm trying, despite your best efforts at indoctrinating me in the Intertect way." Joe pointed at the video screen. "Does he look familiar?" Joe had rewound the tape and paused it. The time code read 1750 hours.

"What's Greg doing in here this late in the day?" Pender asked.

"I'd bet if I fast forward the tape, Brady Richards'll show up." He did so and three minutes later Brady did. No sound on the tape but it looked like Richards was questioning the night guard before he moved out of camera range. Joe fast-forwarded and saw Greg then Richards leave.

"You think Richards is involved?"

"Maybe, maybe not. The guard look familiar?"

"Yeah, that's Ben. Let's go ask him."

Joe and Pender returned to the lobby.

"You got him straightened out, Marty?" the guard asked.

"He's okay, Ben. Tell me about Greg, the guy from Royal Vending Services. He came in Thursday night."

"Yeah, he came in just after I took over the desk."

"Did he say why he was here?"

"Yeah, he said he lost his wallet and wanted to take a quick look upstairs in the canteen for it. Everybody knows Greg. He came right back down."

"What about Brady Richards? Did he say something to you when he came in?" Joe asked.

"In fact he asked about Greg."

"What did he ask?"

"Just if I had seen him." The guard looked from Pender to Joe and back again. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing to worry about, Ben," Pender said, but the guard didn't look relieved.

Joe and Pender took the elevator up. "So you think Greg and Richards are involved?" Pender asked.

"Maybe. Too many coincidences."

"Come with me."

Joe followed Pender into Wickersham's office. Pender pushed an on switch and the video console on the right side of Lew's desk came on.

"Does Lew know you know about this?"

"Probably." Pender manipulated the video tape deck under the console. "When Mr. Wickersham isn't looking at anything specific the deck records from cameras on the eleventh floor. Some of the cameras only he has access to. Maybe there's enough tape to go back to Thursday night."

The video deck stopped whirring. "Damn, maybe not." Pender pushed the play button. A camera caught Greg getting into the elevator to leave. As soon as the doors closed, Richards came into view. He caught the next elevator. Pender fast-forwarded through the rest of the tape. Nothing else was of consequence.

"Shouldn't we tell Mr. Wickersham?" Pender asked.

"All we know for sure is that Richards might have been following Greg."

Pender turned off the deck, closed the console and Joe followed him out of Wickersham's office.

"What can we do about this?"

"Run a data inquiry on Greg—"

"Saunders." Pender finished. "That was on the name patch on his uniform."

" And put a call out to all Intertect operatives and guards on duty to report any sightings of that purple and white cargo van he drives. A Dodge A100 Tradesman van. I saw it parked at the loading dock the other day."

"Was that where you were instead of class?"

"Look, my working here is a one-time deal with Lew. I'm no good with a lot of rules and regulations and he knows it. After this is solved, I'm gone."

Pender led Joe to an office off the computer room, the watch commander's office. There was a radio console located on one wall and a desk with a labeled cubby holes filled with forms. A cot was against the back wall. Joe remembered on weekends the watch commander had twenty-four hour duty. Pender pulled out a form and filled it out. He walked into the computer room. All Joe heard was the word, "Rush." Before Pender could take two steps the programmer called him back. They talked a minute and Pender returned to the office.

"That's funny. Brady did an inquiry on Greg Saunders too. Mike's recalling the data now."

"When?"

"He asked for it on Wednesday."

"And?"

Mike stepped into the office and handed Pender a computer readout. He scanned it.

"Greg Saunders didn't exist before six months ago," Pender said.

"Doesn't Intertect run background checks on the companies and people doing business with it?"

"Technically Tishman Plaza Business Office does the contracts for building services including vending. When we moved into this building, Royal was already contracted. Since the company only had access to the canteen, there was no reason to check them out."

"So much for security. Is there a home address in there?"

"1401 Grand Street."

"Phony. I checked it out yesterday. It's a hobby shop." Joe turned to leave.

"Where're you going? Are you forgetting you still work for Intertect? You're supposed to be on duty with me."

"You're kidding, right?"

Pender grinned. "Yeah, I am."

"Now that Intertect's on the job I'm going home to get some sleep in my bed for a change. Call me if anyone catches sight of the van. And don't worry about informing Lew. I'll be seeing him tomorrow morning. I'll let him know what we've found out."

o0O0o

Joe scolded himself as he raced across the Heim Bridge from Terminal Island into Wilmington. He was already late for his meeting with Lew and he had nothing to offer him but speculation. He thought about using the car phone to let Lew know he was on the way but he preferred not to be cussed out over the phone. That could wait. The drive would give him time to think, time to put the pieces of this puzzle together.

While he was asleep, comfy in his bed, Royal Vending Services had moved out. Looked like in a hurry too by the mess in the formerly neat office. Probably found the broken glass he'd left. He slapped his steering wheel. He might have just missed them.

Joe was positive Greg and Royal Vending Services were behind the leaks and Richards' death. Maybe Richards had discovered what they were up to. Maybes, all he had were maybes.

"What the hell?" As he came off the bridge onto the Terminal Island Freeway, his mind registered the purple Royal Vending Services van in the shipping container lot to his right. He glimpsed a silver car next to it. He mashed the gas pedal. Next exit coming up.

o0O0o

Wickersham drove with his left hand and dialed his car phone with his right. Mannix hadn't bothered to show up for their final morning meeting nor had he answered the phone in Vehicle 71. He had been positive Mannix was onto something. That was the only reason he didn't have Pender drag him back to Intertect to finish his report and cash him out.

"Watch commander. Pender speaking."

Wickersham glanced at his Bulova. 6:25 AM. "Pender, this is Wickersham. Where the hell is Mannix?"

"Right away, Mr. Wickersham."

He heard the phone click into hold mode. Already on his way to Intertect, he was about to cross onto Wilshire when Pender returned.

"Mr. Wickersham, looks like he's somewhere around Wilmington near the Heim Bridge. Possibly Terminal Island."

"Can't you pin it down any closer?"

"No, sir, but if he's on Terminal Island I'd bet he's at the Royal Vending Services offices."

"What makes you think that?"

"Mannix had me run an inquiry on Greg Saunders. He works for Royal Vending."

Greg Saunders, that name again. Wickersham flashed back to looking at the data inquiry the programmer had put in the box of Brady's personal possession. Wickersham had to ask Chris who Greg Saunders was. Royal Vending Services? What had Mannix said Brady's last words were—coffee, tape? The words had been circling his head since he heard them. Coffee, tape. Brady had asked for a data inquiry on Greg Saunders. Mannix did the same. Why? Coffee? Tape? Coffee, Greg—vending machines, tape—machine, tape recorder!

"Pender, open the vending machines in the canteen and check them for tape recorders, microphones, or anything that could send a radio signal."

"Sir? Yes, sir!"

Wickersham heard Pender giving orders to the roaming guard. He pushed a button and replaced the handset. "I'm putting you on speakerphone. Keep this line open."

"What's going on?"

"I'm not sure yet. It may be nothing." His fingers chilled and he felt that dread in the center of his chest. Mannix was about to blow up in his face—again.

o0O0o

Joe parked as close as he dared. He estimated he was about four rows away. He loosened his tie. He didn't know why he had dressed up to get fired by Lew. Working at Intertect had really gotten into his head.

He used the twin towers of the bridge as a landmark to snake his way through the container lot. Every few containers he stopped and listened hoping not to hear the sound of a car engine starting. The only sounds so far were diesel engines straining to get their ships out to sea the low rumble of a freight train, and cars whooshing by as they came off the bridge.

Searching the narrow corridors between the shipping containers, he located the Royal Vending Services van. He crept up the right side of a rusty red container. Its open door hid him from view. He eased around the door to look in the passenger window of the van. Keys in the ignition.

Voices echoed inside the shipping container. He heard voices speaking in Russian. Unfortunately "sookim sin" were the only Russian words he remembered.

Footsteps and he dodged behind the door. Someone slammed something closed. Footsteps tramped back into the container.

He peeked inside the van window again stretching to scan the interior. Wooden cases of empty Coca Cola soda bottles and a few boxes of Snickers and Baby Ruth bars were stacked to hide from casual view the metal shelves bolted to the van wall. On the shelf were several small tape recorders, in fact, miniature. The recorder he hung outside Wright's window was huge by comparison.

Familiar voices in English spoke from within the container. Carol and Wright from the canteen the other day. He remembered the conversation. Richards voice broke in and said they shouldn't be discussing the project in the canteen.

Coffee? Tape? That's it! Richards was looking for evidence that there were tape recorders hidden in the vending machines! No wonder Greg came in three times a week. He was changing out the tape recorders like Joe had changed the cassette tape every couple of days at Wright's place.

Joe was torn. Rush back to the car and call Lew? But the evidence was right in front of him and the people who did it were right here too. Judging by the mess at the offices, Greg and company might disappear by the time he made it back to the car and phoned for help.

He cursed himself for running out of the apartment without his gun. He had to get his hands on one of the tape recorders. He hesitated. Wait a minute, why take a tape recorder when he could take the whole damn van? Yeah, why not? The keys were in the ignition.

He stooped and felt his way to the front of the van. He popped up to scan the area. No one in sight. Cautiously he opened the driver's door. Ever so slowly he swiveled around the door to get in the driver's seat. He pushed the door a bit more. The door groaned; Joe froze.

Voices inside the container stopped and started again in Russian. Joe returned to breathing and reached for the ignition key. Once he turned the key it would be only a matter of seconds before—the hair on the back of his neck came to attention.

"Get out!"

Joe shifted his eyes to his left. A pistol was aimed at his head. That glance told him the man holding the gun wasn't Greg Saunders.

"Get out now!" The man signaled with his gun.

"Okay, you got me." Joe raised his hands and moved slowly. The man pulled back on the door to let him out. Joe shoved the door into the man knocking him to the ground. He slammed the door shut and started the van. Speeding away from the commotion behind him, he zig-zagged down the aisle. A bullet cracked the driver side mirror. He ducked and jerked the wheel to the right skidding around the corner.

One aisle, two aisles flew by. No idea of where he was going. An engine whined behind him. The front windshield shattered on the passenger side. Cracks spider-webbed the windshield partially blocking his view. Third aisle. The steering wheel yanked from his hands. Someone had butted the van. Its rear end moved to his right. He grabbed the wheel back and almost swerved into a truck trailer.

To his left, a road beyond the chain link fence. He wrenched the steering in that direction and jammed the accelerator pedal. The metal fence screeched and rattled against the van as he drove over it.

Clang, clang, clang. Red lights flashed at the railroad crossing directly before him. Blam! The silver car rammed into the van's right side. Joe steered to the left and the van jumped over the concrete median. He bounced in his seat; his skull almost punched through the headliner. He detected asphalt and aimed for it.

o0O0o

"How did you know there were a tape recorders in the vending machines?" Pender's voice asked over the speakerphone.

"Pender, computers can't do—what the—" Wickersham gasped.

A purple van careened onto the bridge in front of him narrowly missing a traffic sign; a silver Dodge sedan in pursuit.

Crack! A gunshot echoed among the bridge framing.

"Pender, call the police."

"What?"

"Call the police! Heim Bridge!"

Wickersham joined the chase. He clearly saw a man leaning out of the passenger window of the pursuing vehicle firing a pistol. A pop and a whoosh. The van shifted and crashed into a bridge support. The sedan braked and then accelerated. Up ahead he saw Mannix running down the center of the road deck pursued by the sedan.

Mannix reversed direction as the sedan almost caught up to him. He jumped to the pedestrian walkway. The sedan braked and cut off his exit. Wickersham sped up aiming for the sedan. Two more shots. He saw Mannix stagger.

Wickersham rammed the rear of the sedan. The impact jarred the steering wheel out of his hands. He bailed out of his car, pulled his revolver and dashed to the sedan.

"Hands up! Out!" He jerked open the door and aimed his weapon at the driver and the passenger. "Drop your gun!" Wickersham jerked the driver out and threw him to the ground. "You too!" He motioned for the passenger to continue out of the vehicle. Wickersham rounded the front of the sedan keeping his revolver trained on the men.

"Mannix!" Nothing. "Joe?" He looked at the last spot he'd seen Mannix standing. He wasn't there, nowhere on the sidewalk. He glanced under the car. "Joe!"

The California Highway Patrol cruiser skidded to a stop. "Arrest them!" Wickersham yelled at the Chippies.

He listened for a human voice among the howling sirens of the police vehicles.

"Here! Help! Help! Hurry!"

Wickersham holstered his weapon and rushed to the railing. He saw fingers slipping. He leaned over the railing barely catching Mannix's arm as he lost his grip. Wickersham strained to haul him back onto the walkway. He had Mannix lie against the railing. Blood seeped through the hole in the left shoulder of his jacket. Wickersham peeled opened it and used his handkerchief to cover the wound.

"Lew, how the hell did you find me?"

"At Intertect, we have our ways."

"No, really."

Wickersham averted his eyes. "There's a tracking device on your Intertect car. It relays your approximate location. Still in the testing stages."

"You were tracking me the whole time?"

"I know how you like to wander. That's why I told Pender to dispense with the driving test."

"Oh, man." Mannix winced at the pain. "You'll find all the evidence you need in that van. And in a shipping container by the bridge."

"Yes, we figured it out. Greg Saunders was hiding voice-activated tape recorders in the vending machines. I'll have Pender alert the other sites they serviced to check their machines too."

Wickersham helped Mannix to his feet. "Let's get you to the hospital." He walked him to an ambulance waiting beyond the police vehicles. Mannix climbed in.

"Hey, what about my license?" Mannix asked.

"Worry about that later."

"You said you could get it reinstated."

"I can." Wickersham paused. "There may be conditions."

"Wait a minute, you didn't say anything about conditions. What conditions?"

"Oh, I didn't, did I? Sorry about that, Joe. I'll see you at the hospital after I get this mess cleared up."

"Lew, what conditions?"

"You're not going to like it."

"What?"

"You get you license back if you work for Intertect for two years and that I personally supervise you."

"What!"

"We'll discuss this later. You're working for Intertect now." Wickersham slammed the door and the ambulance rolled away.

He watched the CHP cruisers leave carrying whom Wickersham assumed was Greg Saunders and his accomplice. Pender had done a good job of explaining to them what was going on when he summoned them.

He surveyed the mass of CHP, LAPD and Harbor Police vehicles, tangled up traffic and his crashed Lincoln. He was going to need a tow and a new radiator. A little chaos was an understatement.

He squinted at the yellow and black caution sign above his head—"Slippery When Wet." Two years with Mannix. What the hell was he thinking?

The End


End file.
